"Jimmy's In The Well!!"

I bought a new cell phone this afternoon. I bought a new cell phone because my previous cell phone went into Flat Creek. My previous cell phone went into Flat Creek while I was struggling to pull myself out of the tangle of vines on the bank of Flat Creek.

There is a huge culvert that carries Flat Creek under the six lanes of Old Hickory Boulevard where it intersects with US 70 South. From the concrete top of the culvert to the actual creek measures about ten feet. And the water is pretty deep there, maybe two feet deep - a lot for Flat Creek.

So, Grace was leading me along, as usual, and she hopped up onto the concrete. I followed, but as I flung my weight forward to propel me to the top of the concrete, a vine caught my right foot. I overbalanced and fell head first on my back down the steep bank. The tangle of vines cushioned my fall, and thankfully, I was not hurt at all. But there I was, upside down on my back, tangled in vines, resting on...what? Dirt? Rock? Just vines? I couldn't tell. My feet and about half of my calves were above ground level, against the concrete top of the culvert - not enough to gain any leverage. Grace could have pulled me out, but she was too busy looking down at me quizzically and whining. And she grabbed some vines and pulled them, to no effect.

I grabbed hold of some vines and tried to pull myself up, with a little help from my feet. I inched upward little by little, but then the vines pulled out of the ground or broke, and I slid back down deeper than I had been. I stopped struggling for a few minutes, resting and thinking. I was seriously tempted to call 911 but I wasn't ready to give up yet. Meanwhile, Grace began barking a high-pitched panicky bark and looking around for someone to help me. I'm sure that if I had let go of the leash she would have gone for help. Unfortunately, she has no clue that vehicles are dangerous, and at that particular intersection, more dangerous than most. I held on, and she barked her "Timmy's in the well!" bark.

At last I decided that all I could do was try to turn over and push myself up to a position where I could grab hold of something - anything!- and claw my way out of there. Of course, if all that was holding me were vines, then into the drink I'd go. But hanging upside down was only marginally better than that. I flailed around, twisting my body until I had an arm in a position to push. I pulled my legs down, pushed up with my left arm and pulled on vines with my right, and miracle of miracles, I was able to stand myself up. I clawed my way up the bank, and had a grateful reunion with Grace. We had been separated for about fifteen minutes! Then I checked my pockets. Everything was still there except my cell phone.

I bought a new cell phone this afternoon.

Back To The Creek

Flat Creek has been a central character in the stories of our walks ever since we came to  Nashville. It flows (or not) through almost every journey we undertake. I inserted the parenthetic disclaimer in the preceding statement because, for three months during this past summer we had virtually no rain, and the creek was dry in many places. Strangely, to me anyway, it flowed normally in many other places. This told me that it flowed underground in the dry places - a phenomenon with which I was previously unfamiliar. Another consequence of the drought was the scarcity of water deep enough for bassador swimming during the blistering hot months of summer.

A couple of weeks ago, the rains finally came, bringing white water to Flat Creek. Grace was smart enough to stay out of the raging current, wading only in the calmer sections. Cooler weather accompanied the rains, so swimming wasn't a concern anyway.

This morning we were on the homeward stretch when she pulled me down to a section of the creek we've never explored before. The water was calm and deep there. I said, "Too bad it's so chilly today or you could go swimming." She looked at me, smiled and went swimming. Just when I think I've figured her out...

Patience Unbecoming

We're hoping that the blistering hot weather is behind us now for this year. Carmen likes to go walking with us when the weather is cool enough. Yesterday, our 30th anniversary, was just such a morning. After our coffee and exchange of hugs and memories, we determined that we would go to Edwin Warner dog park. Carmen still had to get ready, and Grace was getting anxious, so we decided that I would walk her to the entrance of our subdivision, and Carmen would drive down and meet us there.

We suited up and set out. I half expected to have to fight with Grace about turning left toward the entrance because she usually wants to go right toward wilder environs. My half-expectation was half right. She didn't want to go left. She didn't want to go right. She didn't want to go forward. She turned around and sat down, watching the door.  For about five minutes she sat there. Then, in a totally unprecedented move, she went to the door and asked to go in. We entered, and Grace led me through the house until she found Carmen. She barked her "snap it up" bark, then led me back outside where she sat down and waited, perfectly calm, until Carmen came out to join us.

There are those who argue that dogs can't reason. They should try walking with Grace.

Ring Of Bright Water

There is a creek that flows through Bellevue with access points nearly everywhere we walk. We have gone for a drink and/or a swim near Old Hickory Boulevard, and at a dozen more places between there and Sawyer Brown Road, nearly three miles west as the creek winds. We have seen common water snakes, snapping turtles, ducks, great blue herons and deer along what the map calls Flat Creek. This afternoon we hit the jackpot.

Grace led me down to Flat Creek at the access point nearest our condo. On these hot summer days, she likes to go for a swim, or at least a deep wade, at the beginning of the 90+ degree afternoon walk. She went right in, wading as deep as the shallow water would let her. I always look for snakes and snappers before I let her go in, and it was all clear. She was wading upstream, where the water gets deeper, so I looked ahead for anything dangerous. There was a major disturbance of the surface about thirty feet ahead, like I had never seen in this creek. A muskrat? A beaver? I pulled Grace onto dry land, and we walked over to the disturbed place. I didn't expect to see whatever it was. I figured it had gone into its hidey hole under the bank or somewhere out of sight. I certainly didn't expect to see one of my all-time favorite mammals, a river otter, cavorting in the water. There it was, chasing the little fish and otherwise frolicking underwater! We watched, mesmerized. The otter came up for air, saw us, and hissed at us, baring its sharp pointed teeth, then went back down, making its way further upstream and away from us. We watched it out of sight around the bend.

Great. Now I'll be disappointed every time we go to an otter-free creek access.  

Deer Deer

It's been a long time since I've been moved to write a WWG post. This morning's walk was truly moving.

Our little corner of Nashville, Bellevue, is a hodgepodge of retail stores, restaurants, churches, single family homes, condominium communities and apartment complexes, with wild places (rapidly shrinking) in between. The rabbit population is dense, so much so that Grace has now caught twelve in her first year here. This also means that coyotes prowl the neighborhoods at night. I have seen one coyote, and Grace has detected them on several occasions. When she does, she tells the whole world about it.

This morning we were walking one of our habitual routes, crossing the drainage ditch between Old Harding Pike and Wynbrook condominium community, when we saw what we initially thought were two greyhounds bounding through the landscaping. We stopped to watch, and were confronted with two deer headed for the woods. They stopped about thirty feet from us and returned our stares. Grace lunged to the end of her four foot leash, and one deer bounded away. The other stayed, continuing to stare. She took a couple of steps closer. We also stepped closer. She took another step in our direction, still staring. Grace lunged again, and the deer took off , following her friend into the woods. We were about twenty feet apart before she ran off. It was our closest encounter ever with a deer.

I did not want a dog. I knew that I would be the one doing the feeding and the walking. I was right, of course, but the walking has changed my life in many ways, many of them welcome. Damn it!

Fudd's Law: A Moral Dilemma

Any fan of Warner Brothers cartoons knows that Fudd's First Law is "Kill da wabbit, kill da wabbit, kill da wabbit..." My beloved bassador is a strict follower of this doctrine. She caught three wabbits in Pennsylvania (two dead, one wounded) and up until this morning she had the same score in Tennessee. If you count near misses, the count goes much higher. She has a two hundred pound anchor at the other end of her leash, so most of her encounters are misses, by a little or a lot.

This morning, about 45 minutes into our 1 1/2 hour walk, we encountered a rabbit lying in an unnatural position on Bellevue Road, up against the curb. Its left hind leg was bloody and obviously broken. Almost certainly, it had been hit by a car. It cowered and shivered and had to be in a lot of pain. At first, I restrained my wabbit killer while I weighed the options. As a former volunteer for Tamarack Wildlife Rehabilitation and Education Center, my first thought was to try to capture it and figure out where I could take it and how I could get it there. Or I could take it to a vet and see what they can do. Or I could put it out of its misery. "How would I go about that?" I asked myself, as Grace strained and whined at the other end of the leash. Hmmm. We ran toward the bunny, and it marshaled its strength enough to take off running. But even with a two hundred pound anchor, Grace was able to catch it, shake it, kill it.

She carried it proudly for a few hundred yards, long enough for three other dogs to see that she had a fresh kill in her mouth, then she laid it down by a tree and we continued on our merry way. Was it my imagination, or did Grace have an extra spring in her step the rest of the way home?

Here We Come A-Molin'

This was a couple of days ago. I've been busy. Sue me.

Grace and I were out for our morning walk. So far so good. Nine times out of ten the morning walk goes east along Old Harding Pike, taking in the condo communities along the right side. Once at the other end, at Hicks Road, we either cross over to where the power lines cut through the woods to Iroquois Apartments, or to the "Doggie Doos" pet grooming place. This particular morning she took us to the latter. There is a field on the right side and a six foot high ridge on the left. We went left. As we approached the slope, she did her foxy jump and dove nose first into the dirt and ivy. With her usual manic fervor, she clawed, bit and dug her way down into the obviously molehill-riddled ground, poking that busy nose into every chasm she dug and scratching an area a yard square in search of the elusive moles. This is routine behavior, not worthy of a blog post. It's what happened next that made me laugh. She was eyebrows deep into a hole on the right side of the excavation, when on the left side several moles suddenly broke cover and ran, searching for safer ground. From my perspective it looked like a cartoon or a Marx Brothers routine. A mole would pop out of this hole, run six or seven inches, then dive down another hole. Two or three at a time would do this, ongoing for several minutes, while Grace, completely oblivious, continued to dig and scratch and poke that nose into the holes. I don't know if it was one of the ones I'd seen that unluckily ran into a hole that led to Grace's mouth, or a different one, but on this occasion she did that signature slow, careful backing out of the hole with a struggling mole in her mouth. She played cat and mouse (dog and mole just doesn't sound right) until the mole was unable to run any more, and on we went with our walk.